


a boy of nineteen with a nervous marine

by alecjbi



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: 1940-1960, 1940s, Alternate Universe - 1940s, Falling In Love, Growing Old Together, M/M, Musicians, New York City, Period-Typical Homophobia, Veterans, based off of the song “cecily smith”, jeremy is an ex-marine, michael is a musician
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-02
Updated: 2018-02-02
Packaged: 2019-03-10 18:18:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13507134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alecjbi/pseuds/alecjbi
Summary: the forbidden love of a discharged marine and a struggling musician among the backdrop of new york city.





	a boy of nineteen with a nervous marine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> jeremy and michael meet, and one (or both) of them, falls hard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it’s finally here!! (or heere?)
> 
> many months in the making, i hope you like it!! please tell me what you think <3
> 
> check me out at these places:
> 
> alecjb.tumblr.com  
> ko-fi.com/alecjbi

_October 3rd, 1945 - 6:21 PM - Manhattan, NY_

Jeremy sat in his parents’ spare bedroom, flipping through a stack of papers. The Lieutenant frowned at the huge, glaring stamp decorating the top of each page. They were each embellished with a “blue discharge”- one neither honorable nor dishonorable. Of course, Jeremy, any of his possible employers, and the practical rest of the world could see right through the ploy, but his parents would never need to know.

Jeremy was discharged. At an officer’s rank, no less. It was enough of a disappointment that he lost the one thing his parents had been planning for him all his life, they didn’t need to know the true reason.

At least the war was over. The (blue) discharge was at least some of a relief. He wouldn’t be worried about being caught anymore- Jeremy joined in the midst of the war, somehow passing through when he was only sixteen. He worked his way up the ranks for five years, finally coming up on top as a First Lieutenant.

And then there was the discharge, but Jeremy chose to forget it.

The soldier glanced at the clock for the twentieth time in the last few minutes. He had been slowly counting down the minutes until seven PM, where he would slip out of his folks’ grasp and meet someone - a boy, no less.

A boy. Jeremiah Heere was meeting a boy. His heart leapt and fell at the exact same time.

He wasn’t exactly sure of the boy’s name. Jacob - Jeremy’s friend and confidant- had set the two up. Jeremy’s parents had moved to New York during the war, and the soldier knew no one from the city. Jacob lived miles away in California, but knew someone who lived in NYC and set them up on a, well...

”You’ll have a date,” Jacob said one morning over breakfast. “Get to know someone in New York. Plus, you guys might hit it off.”

Jeremy scowled behind his watery cup of coffee. Military food was horrible, most likely a biohazard, yet Jeremy needed the caffeine. “Don’t say t-that. You know how d-dangerous it is to be-“ he leaned in, whispering so no one around them could hear, “-homosexual.”

“I don’t know man, I got some vibes from him. My homosexual radar is pretty accurate,” Jacob mentioned as he flashed an easy smile, though Jeremy could see his eyes darting back and forth across the mess hall. “I mean, I spotted you out.”

“Takes one t-t-to know one,” Jeremy muttered, and Jacob snorted in his coffee. “But seriously, w-w-watch what you say. One of u-us is going to get cau-caught.”

“Well, then I can say I know someone who got a lobotomy,” he deadpanned, and Jeremy glared at him before bursting into laughter. Jacob was always able to bring fun out of the worst situations.

Thinking back, he still was. In the last letter Jeremy received from him a few months ago, Jacob had mentioned that he had been caught with a man while home and was forced to get a lobotomy due to multiple charges of “gross indecency” and “homosexual behavior”. Jeremy could imagine the soldier’s smirk as he wrote to the other, _But, maybe it will be good. I could become invincible!_ Jacob then signed the letter with, _Your soon front-lobeless best friend, Jacob Dillinger._

Though Jeremy could still clearly hear the soldier’s laugh, envision that bright and welcoming smile, he scowled at the memory. He received the letter in May, then sent a response back immediately.

He hadn’t heard back from Jacob since.

Jeremy shook his head, dispelling the memory and the dread that came with it for an entirely new type of anxiety. Jeremy was meeting a boy who may or may not be like him. How was he supposed to act? What if Jacob was wrong and that boy reported him to the police? Every new question swirled around his mind and sped up his heart until Jeremy had to stand up and pace through the room to calm himself.

The soldier held head in his hands until the room stopped spinning. By the time everything stabilized, the clock had hit seven. Jeremy took a deep breath and snatched his overcoat, his father’s old fedora that he “borrowed” and a lighter. Jeremy flung open the door and started to run out before realizing his mistake and slowing his pace.

“Mom!” he yelled up the stairs, “I’m going out to get s-some smokes and ru-run errands. I’ll be back in a few hours.” He heard his father call something about why he needed to smoke so late and simply shrugged, not trusting his ability to lie.

He had a date, and Jeremy could not be more excited.

The soldier made his way to the corner of Amsterdam Ave and 68th Street where he was supposed to meet the mystery man. He shivered under his overcoat. The boy foolishly didn’t bring a suit jacket in fear appearing too fancy. He pulled the lighter out of his pocket, flicking it on the vain hope it would warm him up. Jeremy glanced up once and awhile to check that he was going the right way, scanning faces and street numbers and searching for the boy.

And then Jeremy saw him.

He stood on the corner of the street and Jeremy swore that if the boy looked his way, he might just faint. If Jeremy had to use one word to describe him, it would be beautiful. Dark, wavy hair, round glasses that accentuated a pair of brown eyes that melted Jeremy’s heart, a strong jawline, and darker skin that stood out against the gray and white backdrop of New York. He stood with a confident air about him; leaning against a street pole in only a slightly-unbuttoned dress shirt, suit vest, and slacks, a cigarette between two fingers and the smoke trailing up to slightly fog up his glasses.

The boy turned his head and met eyes with Jeremy, whose vision was unmoving from him. His face lit up with a smile, dimples showing and eyes positively glowing, and the soldier’s heart swelled.  
Jeremy was falling - falling hard. He felt the ground sweep from under him as the boy looked at him. He was already digging himself a hole, falling and falling until he wouldn’t be able to get up anymore.

Jeremy didn’t realize that he was actually falling until his face hit the concrete.

“Are you okay?” a voice said above him, and when Jeremy looked up, he was met with the boy. Jeremy tried to speak but no words came as the boy extended a hand and helped him up.

”You must be Jeremiah,” the boy said, smiling and brushing off the dirt that had accumulated on Jeremy’s jacket. “My name is Michael Mell.” He smiled, and put a hand into his shirt pocket, pulling out two pieces of paper. “And I hope you like music, ‘cause I’ve got two tickets for La Traviata the Met. It’s amazing, the vocals are just incredible.” His eyes lit up as he spread the tickets between his fingers.

Jeremy said the first thing that came to his mind: “I h-h-hate o-opera.”

Great first impressions.

Michael’s face lit up at that and put a hand on Jeremy’s shoulder, leading him down Amsterdam. “Well, lucky for you, Mr. Jeremiah, you’re with Michael Mell. Who cares what you’re listening to? It’s who you’re listening with.”

Jeremy smiled, restraining himself from leaning into Michael’s touch. The warm hand on his shoulder somehow reminded him how to speak. “I suppose you’re right, M-Mi-Michael Mell. But you’re w-with Jeremiah H-Heere, so I think your theater-going ex-experience is about to b-bec-become much b-better.”

Michael let out a noise that sounded much like a bark. “You wish. But just for the record, La Traviata is amazing. You’ll love it.” Michael then removed his hand, glancing across the street with nervous eyes. He covered it with a smile when Jeremy looked to him, yet Jeremy knew that look.

But when Michael moved a foot or two away, maybe he didn’t. Every idea, every future forming in the soldier’s head dissipated. It would be yet another time that Jeremy fell for a boy and waited for the feelings to subside: painfully. Jeremy had to set himself up for a rejection that the other did not know he was giving.

Well, if he didn’t get a kiss, he at least would get a nap.

Michael led Jeremy to the Met, the two arriving mere minutes before the show started. They sat in a corner near the back, a perfect spot where Jeremy could hopefully doze off and sleep this entire mess away. The lights in the hall dimmed and the audience went quiet. Jeremy leaned back as Michael tilted forward in his seat, hands folded in his lap. Jeremy could not help but smile at the sight. The world went to black as Jeremy closed his eyes, the sweet sound of violins ringing through his ears.

And suddenly, a chill went down his spine. A warm feeling settled in his cheeks and his chest floated. Gravity seemed to have no effect here as he sat in the opera hall, the sound of a woman singing in an unknown language filling his ears. Yet, the music was not what caused the hair on the back of his neck to rise, his heart to beat one hundred miles a minute.

No, it was because Michael Mell had placed his hand in Jeremy's, their fingers intertwining. That hand attached to the too-good-to-be-real Michael Mell never retreated, never strayed from Jeremy's grasp for the entire show.

When the show was over, after everyone had threw flowers and praise at the performers, the two walked out of the hall. Michael had finally removed his hand from Jeremy's, a fact that the latter was quite disappointed about. Once they had gotten outside and away from all the noise, Michael pulled Jeremy aside.

“So, what did you think of it?" Michael stood with a large, expectant smile spread across his face, his hair blowing wildly in the wind. His skin shone under the streetlight, golden and beautiful. If it weren't illegal, Jeremy would kiss him on the spot.

“I guess i-it wasn't q-qu-quite so bad," Jeremy said as he smiled and traced his hand along Michael's wrist, praying to any god that may exist that no one could see them. It was the best time I've ever had.

Michael's eyes flicked down- Jeremy wasn't quite sure to where- and then another hand went to his pocket. He pulled out two tickets as Jeremy repressed an all-encompassing smile.

"Well, lucky for you, I've got seats to Beethoven's Fifth!" Jeremy groaned playfully, and Michael slapped him lightly on the back. "What did I say, Jeremiah? It doesn't matter what you're listening to, it's who you're listening with."

* * *

_November 7th, 1945 - 2:23 AM - Manhattan, NY_

Jeremy lay in Michael's bed, going over all the reasons he should _not_ be here right now.

First on the list, and perhaps the one blaring every single alarm there was in Jeremy's head, was that he was currently laying in another man's bed. Of course, said man wasn't actually in the bed, but it did not stop Jeremy's heart from pounding out of his chest. He wasn't even exactly sure how he ended up here.

He remembered going out to dinner before seeing Beethoven's Fifth with Michael and drinking cheap red wine, skipping down the street, falling... and the rest leading up to him laying in an unfamiliar bed was nonexistent. The only reason he knew that he was, in fact, in Michael's room, was due to an old upright piano sitting haphazardly in the corner of the room. He had mentioned having it in his bedroom a few weeks ago when Jeremy had asked Michael what he did for a living.

“I'm a piano teacher," he had answered with a frown. Jeremy raised his eyebrows and Michael started to babble, hands flying rapidly around his face. "Well, you see, I'm trying to save money to go back to school. Last year I got accepted into Juilliard-" Jeremy's eyes widened at that- "but I had to drop out soon after because I didn't have the money to go there. I'm trying to write my own music, trying out for musicals, trying to get my name out there, cause I'm good!" Jeremy nodded (somewhat frightened) as Michael's hands flung up above his head. "I'm working three jobs to try to get back into there. But you don't get many auditions when you mention 'oh, hey, I'm a Juilliard dropout!'' Michael put his head in his hands, rubbing his eyes under his glasses, then looking back at Jeremy. "So, what do you do?"

“I was a Marine," was Jeremy's short answer. Michael looked... impressed?

"Do I have to do that whole 'thank you for your service thing' or can we just skip that?" he said, his face lighting up when Jeremy laughed. "Okay, I'll take that as a 'yes'. Now why is it 'was'? Did you get kicked out or something?"

Jeremy groaned and placed his head on the table. "I was a F-First Lieutenant-"

“Ooh, fancy," Michael teased, a mischievous smirk placed upon his lips. Jeremy glanced down at them before realizing his mistake and looking back up, face flushed.

“Shut up. Anyways, I j-joined in 1940-"

"Wait. Aren't you twenty-one?"

Jeremy sighed. "That's a long story, b-b-but yes. I was a First Lieutenant but then I got dis-discharged after the war."

Michael nodded, a word forming on his lips before he seemed to opt it out and take a sip of his water.

Yet, that memory served no help to Jeremy on his quest to figure out how the hell he ended up in Michael’s bed. With his luck, someone would burst in and-

The door creaked open slowly, followed by footsteps and Jeremy’s heart dropped to the floor in fear. But it was only Michael carrying a glass of water and a bag full of what looked like ice.

“Oh, good, you’re awake. You’ve been out for awhile,” he said, pulling up a chair next to his bed. Michael’s mouth was formed into a tight line, his eyebrows knitted. Jeremy thought it was quite endearing, but would never admit.

”What h-h-happened?” Jeremy asked, wincing at the shakiness of his voice and the amount of pain it caused for him to roll over.

”You don’t remember?” Michael tilted his head, the worry on his face becoming more evident. “We were headed to see Beethoven’s thing, and you fell and hit your head hard. I had to drag you into my car- God, you should’ve seen the looks people gave me.” Michael’s expression brightened slightly, and Jeremy gave him a weak smile. “Watch me get charged for ‘gross indecency’.” He spat the words, and whatever light feeling Jeremy got when he talked to Michael left immediately.

“That s-sounds like something I’d d-do,” Jeremy muttered, glaring at the wall behind Michael. “But I’d b-better go,” he said, making a move to get up before flopping back on the bed with a broken yell.

”What’s wrong?” Michael said, standing up and spilling the glass of water in the action. His glasses were slipping down his face, his eyes full of obvious concern. Jeremy would have appreciated it if it weren’t for the searing, white-hot pain behind his eyes from sitting up the wrong way.

”It- _fuck,_ Michael! It h-hurts,” Jeremy managed to choke out before feeling the bed bend as a lengthy figure crawled onto it. He felt a pair of strong arms wrap around him, a familiar voice whispering comforting words in his ear. The pain slowly subsided, and so did consciousness, as Jeremy soon slipped into sleep. Michael held him still, rubbing circles into his back and whispering praises in a gravelly voice.

Jeremy’s pain-ridden mind raced as his eyes drooped. He was in the arms of a boy he was painfully attracted to who seemed to not be bothered by this encounter. It was unnatural, dirty, wrong…

But Michael didn’t need to know that.

* * *

_November 23rd, 1945 - 6:32 PM - Boston, MA_

The Heeres were a traditional folk. The kind who never changed, who refused to believe anything than what they had known from the beginning.

That held true to Thanksgiving.

Every Thanksgiving for as long as Jeremy’s memory could carry him, he had gone to his great-great-great grandpa’s house. The small house in Boston had been built by a man named William Heere for his family. While it may have been beautiful at one point, Jeremy preached to everyone he met that it was the ugliest place he had ever seen?

”What’s even so bad about it?” Michael asked one night. Jeremy had come over for a (complementary) piano lesson, but had forgotten all about it once Jeremy got frustrated trying to play a scale. The two sat on the ground playing cards, an old jazz record from the 20’s playing in the background.

“It’s h-horrible,” Jeremy said, groaning and furrowing his eyebrows from behind his cards. “The h-house is f-f-falling apart at the seams, the f-foundation’s c-cracked, and it sm-smells like shit. There’s more s-s-spiders than pe-people t-that have be-been in that house.”

Michael smirked and laid down a card.

“That would’ve been funnier without the stutter, it’s a good thing you’re cute.”

Jeremy’s heart nearly leapt out of his chest and he forced himself to not think of the implications that came with that statement. “S-Shut u-u-up,” he said, his tone angry, yet he smiled shyly and laid his cards down.

“S-Straight fl-flu-flush.”

“Damn it!”

The only redeeming quality of the day in the crumbling “house” was Jeremy’s cousin, Richard. He lived a few streets away from Jeremy’s old house in Maine. The two had been best friends before the war, before Jeremy’s parents moved to New York, before everything. Richard and Jeremy, the two kids fused at the hip, were torn apart by the war. Letters came once a month, if he was lucky, even though Jeremy sent hundreds of letters throughout those five long years. Seeing Richard was the one highlight of spending hours with aunts who needed every detail of his life, uncles who thought they knew him because they both were Marines, cousins with irritating husbands toting around crying babies.

At some point, the entire family gathered in the dining room- a large room nearly completely surrounded by windows. (Jeremy also swore that this was the only good room in the house.) At least fifty people gathered around a large oak table, saying traditional prayers and then digging into the food laid in front of them.

It was tradition, as was Jeremy’s relatives interrogating him endlessly.

“So,” Jeremy’s ever-nosy Aunt Lillian said, leaning in from across the table, “how’s New York?”

Jeremy sighed inwardly. “It’s o-okay, a lot d-diff-different from M-Maine.”

Aunt Lillian nodded knowingly. “Of course, the big city can take its toll on you. Have you met anyone?”

Though the question seemed innocent, Jeremy could see right through the ruse.

“No, I haven’t m-met anyone, A-A-Auntie. On-Only a friend.”

Aunt Lillian raised her eyebrows.

“Really?”

Jeremy frowned. “It’s a boy, A-A-Auntie. I’m n-not q-qu-queer.” The lie stung as it went down Jeremy’s throat, but it was necessary.

Jeremy’s aunt, along with all the others listening in on the conversation, frowned.

“Oh,” Lillian said. “Well, what’s his name?”

“My buddy fr-f-from the war, J-J-Jacob, introduced u-us. His name is Mi-Michael.”

”And who is this ‘Michael’?”

_Michael Mell.  
_

_The boy with the smile that could light up the entire state of New York._  
The boy with the laugh that will never fail to make my day.

_The boy that puts his glasses upside down to make me laugh when I’m feeling down.  
_

_The boy that will leave in the middle of dinner because he had a melody in his head and didn’t want to lose it.  
_

_The boy who has a pile of records that reaches the ceiling and knows the name of every single one.  
_

_The boy that I can’t stop looking at.  
_

_The boy I think I’m in love with._

”He’s j-just a friend.”

Richard, who was sitting across the table, raised his eyebrows and jerked his head towards the room across the hall, a sacred place to escape that had served them well over the years.

”Excuse me,” Jeremy said, pushing out his chair and setting his napkin down. “I’m fu-full and I want to c-catch u-u-up with p-people.”

“Jeremiah!” a familiar, stern voice belonging to his mother called. “Get back here!”

“I’m an ad-adult now, you c-can’t t-t-tell me what to d-do!” Jeremy called over his shoulder, smiling softly at the unmistakable bark of Richard’s laugh.

“Jer,” Richard said once the two were alone in a spare room. “I saw that look on your face when they mentioned Michael.” He wiggled his eyebrows and nudged Jeremy in the ribs. “Tell me.”

Jeremy groaned. “R-Ri-R-Richard, m-my friend, you are k-k-killing me.”

The boy next to him smiled widely. “Oh my God, you love him.”

Jeremy flopped back onto the bed and dug the heels of his hands into his eyes. Richard laughed and flopped down next to him as Jeremy stared at the ceiling.

“Tell me everything. And I mean everything. You’ve been gone for five years, and seeing khaki wacky is such a fun treat.”

Jeremy snorted. “Who the h-hell says ‘khaki wacky’ anymore?”

”Richard Goranski, that’s who.” Richard’s lisp was quite prominent on those words, and Jeremy couldn’t help but smile. He had missed the way Richard’s “s”’s turned into “t”’s. The speach impairment had gotten better over the years, but Jeremy still enjoyed the times that it appeared. It was one of the reasons that Richard and Jeremy had become so close- both could not speak “correctly”. The first time they said “hello” to each other was a momentus occasion- Jeremy struggling to get through saying his own name and Richard lisping through his own. Both of them dissolved into laughter over the other, but would punch anyome who made fun of the other. Of course, Jeremy’s stutter and Richard’s lisp had gotten better over the years, but Jeremy would never lose the bond it gave him.

“F-Fine. You k-know J-Ja-Jacob, right?”

“Oh, I know Jacob.”

Jeremy rolled over to face Richard.

“You’re kidding.”

Richard turned his head and looked at him, flinging his hands up above him.

“What?”

”You’ve been f-f-fucking him!”

It was Richard’s turn to groan. “You’re horrible. I’m not a queer, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Jeremy smiled. “You a-are the wor-worst liar.”

A small smile appeared on Richard’s face, which it looked like he was desperately trying to push down. “Was I really that obvious?”

”Ri-Ric-Richard. I-I think ‘Oh, I know J-Jacob” is pretty d-damn obvious.” Richard groaned again, and Jeremy laughed. “How could you not t-tell me you were qu-queer?”

Richard’s hands starting moving all over around him. “Well, I wasn’t really lying. I like girls, especially those ones in Playboy magazines.” Jeremy mimed throwing up, and Richard laughed. “Kidding. I’m kidding. But I also like guys. Especially Jacob.”

“Obviously.”

Richard hit him in the arm. “Shush. Anyways, I never really thought about it. But then I met Jacob at the restaurant I work at, and we really hit it off. We, uh, actually did it that night.”

Jeremy bit his bottom lip, trying desperately to fight back a laugh. "I c-can't believe y-you. J-Jacob slept with y-y-you? He ne-needs to work on his s-standards."

Richard put a hand to his chest, gasping dramatically and sitting up to fall back once again. "That's rude. But, no, we really hit it off." His hand hit his chest, and a sort of sad expression glazed over his eyes. "I haven't heard from him lately. Do you think he's okay?"

Jeremy could feel Richard's eyes on him, worried and digging into his mind. He chose to start at the ceiling, making patterns in the bumps. "I-I'm su-s-sure he's f-fine." This lie hurt more, the words stinging as they came out of his mouth, venom spewing off his tongue as he lied directly to his cousin's face. He heard Richard's head turn back to the ceiling, his eyes with it. Jeremy closed his own burning eyes, praying to whatever entity there may be that his tears would stay in.

“You really think so?"

"I d-do. Really."

* * *

_December 1st, 1945 - 2:45 PM - Manhattan, NY_

"So, wh-what do you w-want f-f-for Christmas?"

"Aren't you Jewish?"

Jeremy sighed. "Y-Yeah, but y-you ce-cele-celebrate Christmas, s-so I wanted t-to ge-get you something."

Michael playfully bumped an elbow into Jeremy's arm, and the other relished in the short contact. "Aw, aren't you sweet."

Jeremy rolled his eyes and bumped back into Michael. The two were sitting on Michael's couch- as was usual for the past few Friday nights. Jeremy would get fed up with his family, and Fridays were the one night that Michael had off from everything, so the two decided to hang out together. Snow was fluttering outside, wind tapping against the windows. The two sat closer to each other than they normally would, and Jeremy would blame the cold if Michael questioned it.

That was the thing about Michael. He was painfully, totally, _not_ queer. He may have joked about it a few times, made prolonged physical contact, but Jeremy knew it meant nothing. As much as he wished that there was anything attached to it, some sort of pining hidden deep down, he knew there was none. Michael was simply a physical, friendly person. He would hug nearly anyone he met, plant kisses on either side of someone's cheeks as a 'hello'.

Jeremy had to ignore it. It stung, it nettled at Jeremy’s skin and sent knives into his heart. It made whatever poison rotting away in the soldier’s mind worsen, everything about it made him want to merge with the couch and disappear. As much as it hurt, Jeremy had to ignore it.

But, damn, Michael Mell made that hard to do.

The two sat in silence now, a cheesy game show playing in the background. Jeremy shivered as another large gust of wind tried to get through the window, and he resisted the urge to move closer to Michael.

Michael turned to him. “Are you cold? I can get you a blanket.”

A light bulb turned on in Jeremy’s head, a way to get the ever-stubborn Michael Mell to bend to his will. “Yes, b-but I’ll on-only t-t-take one as l-long as you t-te-tell me what y-you want for C-Christmas.”

Michael groaned as Jeremy smirked.

“Fine,” he said, standing up to retrieve a blanket from the closet. “I like music-“ Jeremy raised his eyebrows in an attempt to say “oh, really?” and Michael laughed quietly. “I like stuff Sammy Cahn writes. I’ll always go to any opera I get a ticket to, although they can be expensive...” He turned towards Jeremy, putting a hand dramatically under his chin and tapped his foot. “Hmm... oh!” Michael pointed his finger up, his eyes lighting up. “I need more laundry detergent.”

A smile lit up Jeremy’s face as he tossed a pillow at Michael for punishment. The latter rubbed his arm where the pillow hit him, an over dramatic frown plastered on his face. “I-I’m not g-getting y-y-you more detergent.”

Michael sighed, walking back to the boy on the couch and draping the blanket over him before plopping down next to Jeremy. “Oh, but it’s on my Christmas list every year!”

“Did S-San-Santa b-bring you sponges e-every Ch-Christmas day?”

”Yes, actually.”

”You m-must’ve be-been a very good b-boy.”

Michael grinned crookedly and turned his head to meet Jeremy’s gaze, who had been staring at him the entire conversation. The latter’s heart rate skyrocketed at those eyes, the way they crinkled around the corners when he smiled. The were warm, dark, seeming as if they could see right through you, burn through your barriers and grab hold of your soul.

Although, Jeremy really didn’t mind.

Michael had put on a record while fetching Jeremy a blanket, the all familiar scratch soon turning into the beginning chords of _Dear Mr. President_ sputtering to life. The boy next to him hummed along to the melodies, entrancing Jeremy as his fingers flew to the piano part on his knee. A small, content smile unlike one Jeremy had ever seen spread across Michael’s face. He seemed quite oblivious to the world, swaying slightly left and right to the beat.

Jeremy simply sat and watched, his mind unable to comprehend just how perfect the boy sitting next to him was.

This continued on for hours, the two simply enjoying each other’s company. When the first record stopped, another was put on with barely any time between the switch. Any album that Jeremy suggested, Michael had, which resulted in the two arguing over whether or not You Are My Sunshine was a good song, (“It has great lyrics!” was Michael’s argument, while Jeremy stood by his statement that “All c-country s-s-songs are shit. Es-Especially that o-one!”) and Michael’s discovery that Jeremy did not stutter when he sang.

“You didn’t stutter!” Michael had exclaimed, throwing his hands up in the air and looking like he was about to hug Jeremy. “How did you do that?”

Jeremy, in all of his infinite wisdom and anxiety, knew what was coming but still managed to smile at Michael’s excitement. “I-I do-d-don’t k-know.”

”Goddamnit, now it’s back!” Michael groaned and flopped back on the couch.

He looked dejected, somehow, and Jeremy’s heart got heavier, threatening to drop out of his chest and down to his shoes. “I thought that, hey, maybe I found the cure to stuttering. Foolish thinking.”

And there it went, Jeremy’s heart dropping and being crushed. The soldier sat on the couch feeling small, knowing that whatever he wished for, Michael was just like all the others. Just another person in this hellish world that would make fun of him, just another boy that would never reciprocate his feelings.

Just like Michael said, it was foolish thinking.

The cozy couch, the cheery music, the warm hand rested next to Jeremy’s, it all felt cold. Leave it to Jeremy to ruin a perfectly good day. He sucked in a breath, trying to settle the whirlwind spinning around his head, and tried to speak. His voice came out barely louder than a whisper. “Y-you d-d-don’t ha-have to f-fi-fix me.”

Michael turned towards him, those eyes killing Jeremy even more. “What? I didn’t hear you.”

Jeremy’s voice came out somewhat louder this time. “I-I-I s-s-said, y-y-you d-don’t ha-have to fi-f-fix me.”

Michael’s eyes widened in horror. “No, Jeremy, I was joking...”

Jeremy couldn’t stand to look at the boy next to him. He turned his head towards the record player next to him, blinking back the tears in his eyes to the droning static of the beginning of another record. “N-N-No, I k-k-kn-know wha-what you me-m-m-meant. Y-Y-You’re ju-just l-l-like ev-everyone else.”

“Jeremy, please, I didn’t mean-“

“I-I-I’ll ju-j-just g-g-go,” Jeremy muttered, standing up and slipping on his jacket. His legs carried him towards the door before stopping dead in his tracks as hand grabbed his arm. He turned around, oblivious to the tears now streaming down his face. Jeremy took a deep breath, ready for the scolding or end of friendship he was about to endure. He prepared for the worst.

And, honestly, being pulled into an all-encompassing, rib-crushing hug definitely wasn’t the worst thing he could think of.

“I’m sorry,” Michael whispered, his breath warm on Jeremy’s skin. “I didn’t think before I spoke.” Michael rested his chin on Jeremy’s shoulder, rocking them softly back and forth. “I love your stutter.”

Everything hurt. The ache in Jeremy’s lungs, the sting from Michael’s previous comments, and the pain even deeper down when Jeremy realized this hug was just a hug, and nothing else. It was just Michael being the caring, physical boy he was. It was nothing more.

So, Jeremy somehow found it within to cry harder. Michael’s hand rubbing circles into his back, Jeremy leaned his head into Michael’s shoulder, burying it as deep as it would go, as the melody of _Again_ soared.

* * *

_February_ _3rd, 1946 - 5:02 PM - Manhattan, NY_

Jeremy hadn’t seen Michael in two months. He would never admit that he hated it... but, yeah, he hated it.

Life had simply gotten in the way. While they planned to meet sometime before Christmas, December soon turned to January and the two made the slow grind to February. Michael would call nearly every day, going on and on about his family, the play he saw, every single detail about his day. Jeremy smiled behind the receiver as Michael ranted, imagining the way he was pushing up his glasses when his voice became muffled. Jeremy didn’t even feel the need to speak, simply to listen and bask in everything that was Michael.

Though, as January neared February, winter slowly melting into spring, the calls became sparse. Michael’s voice sounded forced, and Jeremy found himself talking to an empty shell. It almost hurt- more than usual, that is. Being hopelessly in love with a boy who would never return his feelings was one thing, but then seeing that same boy troubled and distant was an entirely other thing.

Michael had his excuses when Jeremy questioned his aloof manner. The answers ranged from a simple "I'm sick" or "Today was just a rough day" to a complex story about how Michael's aunt was ruining his life. When Michael told that particular story, Jeremy could see a glimpse of the Michael that he used to be. A smiling, laughing, rambling Michael.

Over time, Jeremy came to the conclusion that, once again, Michael was like everyone else. The ones who made fun of his stutter, who pretended to know him, who eventually got tired of him and moved onto better things and better people. It was foolish to think that Michael would be different.

So, Jeremy made his last stand.

It had taken a while, but Jeremy found a record that he was sure Michael did not own. He’d found it in the back of a shop- it was one that the owner had made and was selling. Jeremy, at the epitome of his decision-making, bought it immediately. Even if Michael didn’t like it, the gift gave the soldier and excuse to come over and talk.

After a good amount of time spent convincing Michael, (over the course of three days) Jeremy found himself knocking on the door to the musician’s apartment. It was nestled in a corner of the city, nearly out of view. From the outside, it was a bit worrisome- mountains of snow shoveled haphazardly to the side that threatened to topple over and bury Jeremy, the knocker to 423B dangling off the door. All of that melted away once you got in. Michael’s apartment was warm and inviting, whether it be from the record player that was always playing something to the pot of coffee that always seemed to be waiting on the counter for you.

Jeremy thought it was quite fitting to the owner.

Michael answered the door with an all-too forced smile placed across his lips.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” Jeremy parroted, stepping inside as Michael ushered him in. The air was heavy between them, begging Jeremy to close his mouth before he ruined anything. “I, uh, g-got you s-so-something.”

Michael’s eyes lit up slightly, as Jeremy pulled the record from behind his back. It disappeared just as quickly, leaving Jeremy feeling… empty. His hands shook slightly as he took the record from the boy.

“Awesome, we can go to my room and play this. Have you listened to it?”  
Jeremy shook his head. “No, a-actually, the guy wh-wh-who sold i-it to m-m-me c-called it so-s-something weird. A ‘mixt-“

“Here were are. Or, Heere we are. Ha.”

Michael had started talking quite fast. While not unusual, it was... off. 

The two had reached Michael’s room, and the musician all but threw the record on his dresser. “Whoops, sorry.”

Jeremy stared at him. Michael’s normally somewhat-shaky hands were practically vibrating. The moment he sat down on his bad, his leg started jiggling. It was as if he could not sit still. This only made the sickness growing in Jeremy’s stomach multiply.

Was he _scared_ to talk to Jeremy?

It wasn’t as if the two had known each other their entire lives, but they had formed a strong bond in the last few months. Jeremy thought Michael felt safe around him, and the thought that he might not was terrifying at the very least.

Finally realizing he should say something, Jeremy opened his mouth and tried desperately to find the words. “H-Hey, M-Mi-Michael, are y-you o-o-okay?”

Michael sighed, his leg still jiggling to no end. “Uh, Jeremy… there’s something I need to tell you.” Jeremy’s stomach did a somersault as he watched the boy in front of him. “You should probably sit.”

Jeremy did. He planted himself next to Michael- still a good distance away, since he was nearly positive that he knew what was going to happen.

Michael’s eyes were trained on the floor, the ceiling, the new record sitting on his dresser- anywhere but Jeremy. Jeremy resisted the urge to place his hand on Michael’s, to envelop him in a rib-crushing hug and get rid of whatever was bothering him. Yet he sat there on the edge of the bed with Michael, toes tapping the beat to a the song playing in his head.

At last, Michael took a deep breath and turned his body to face Jeremy. He muttered something that the latter could not quite catch, and then he spoke.

“Jeremiah Heere, I think I’m in love with you.”

Jeremy’s heart stopped.

“I know I’ve only known you for a few months, but God, these have been the best few months of my life.” His voice wavered as he spoke, eyes glassy and full of pain. “The way you talk about opera with me even though you hate it, the way your eyes crinkle when you smile, and, God! That smile.” Michael smiled sadly, tears collecting in his eyes and threatening to fall out. “That smile could light up the entire state of New York. And your laugh makes me feel at home, like I’m safe even though I’m not.”

He was crying now, tears spilling down his cheeks like waterfalls. “You’ll probably turn me into the police now- tell them I’m a homosexual and I’ll be forced to get a lobotomy or something. I’m not welcome here. But I had to tell you in the vain chance that you’d understand, that you’d love me back.” His voice was breaking, sending knives into Jeremy’s heart. “So, please, Jeremiah Heere, love me back. This is the only thing I will ask for, the one thing I will get on my knees and beg for.”

“Please, just love me back.”

Jeremy sat staring at the boy next to him- the crying, broken boy that had just confessed his love to him. It was like the first time he saw him- his words failing him, falling harder and harder for a boy that he knew would never love him back.

But now, by some act of God, by some miracle bestowed upon him, Michael loved him back. Michael loved him back.  
The two sat for a moment before Jeremy remembered how to speak. Or even breathe, for that matter.

“C-Can I k-k-kiss you?” Jeremy wasn’t sure that the question had even come out. His voice was shakier than normal, staring into the hypnotizing eyes that belonged to Michael Mell.

Those eyes glanced down at the soldier’s own lips, wide and wanting. Jeremy had seen that look before. In the dim light of a room with a locked door and closed blinds, while slammed against a wall in the middle of a desperate fling.

The soldier knew those eyes. They wanted to take and take and take.

And Jeremy was so, _so_ willing to give.

So, he did the one thing he had been dreaming of for months, the one that that he was convinced would never happen.

He leaned forward and kissed Michael.

The boy's lips were soft and salty and simply _perfect._ Jeremy's heart was beating out of his chest as he closed the gap, smashing his lips against Michael's. The smell of cinnamon and smoke filled his lungs, and the soldier soon realized there was absolutely nowhere else he would rather be. It took a moment for a somewhat shocked Michael to kiss back, but when he did, Jeremy's heart soared. It was messy, full of tears which caused Jeremy's lips to slip slightly to the side, but it was them. It was the fireworks you heard about in books, and the familiarity of someone that Jeremy had loved since the moment he laid eyes on him. It felt as if they had done this a million times before, as if it was the last time they would be able to.

It was every cliché Jeremy had ever heard of, every fantasy that he could ever imagine.

And it was perfect.

Michael was the one to pull back, out of breath and eyes locked on Jeremy's lips. His hand gravitated to his lips, as if holding onto the feeling in case it wasn't real. Jeremy couldn't blame him. In fact, he wasn't quite convinced that this was reality. Michael's fingers traced where Jeremy's lips met his, and then he smiled. It was a smile so wide that Jeremy didn't know could exist. It lit up the entire room- full of teeth and teary eyes and pure joy.

Jeremy had never seen anything more beautiful.

Michael surged forward, pressing his lips to Jeremy's once again. Jeremy could feel his smile against his own lips, and it seemed as if Michael was unable to hide his joy. He slowly pushed Jeremy's back to the bed, getting on top of him, lips still connected. There was no sense of urgency and one all at the same time- the two worked into a slow rhythm, savoring the moment as if it were the last time they would be able to do this. Jeremy slid his tongue against Michael's lower lip, asking for entry, and Michael happily obliged. The boy on top of him shivered as Jeremy practically dragged his tongue along the roof of his mouth. He sighed into Jeremy's mouth- low, gravelly, and entirely blissed-out, and Jeremy knew there was nowhere else in the world he would rather be at this moment. Michael's hands moved to unbutton Jeremy's shirt, hands roaming over whatever skin there was to offer. There was a tapping somewhere behind them, which both boys ignored.

Until it got louder.

"M-M-Michael-" Jeremy said, his voice being cut off and dissolving into nothing as the boy on top of him deepened the kiss. Michael took the quiet, gasping breath as an invitation to do more, moving his hands lower until Jeremy felt a dangerous pooling of heat and desire deep in his stomach. Damn that boy and his ability to wrap Jeremy around his finger. "Mic-Michael." He tried again, but nothing came of it. "Michael!" he said finally, whisper-shouting in and pushing Michael off of him. The boy's eyes were full of confusion and worry, and Jeremy found it quite endearing. "Mi-Michael, I t-think there's s-s-someone a-at your door."

The worried eyes trained on Jeremy soon turned to those of horror. "Oh shit. Oh _shit."_ Michael scrambled off of Jeremy, trying desperately to straighten his hair as he paced around the room. "Shit!" he whispered, as not to alert their guest. His eyes went to Jeremy, then to the door, then to another door. "Jeremy. I know this sounds bad, but get in the closet."

Jeremy almost snorted. "What?"

"Just-just trust me on this, okay? You look like a mess, and questions are going to be raised if you walk out of here like this. Just... get in the closet. It'll be thirty minutes at the most. Please."

Jeremy smiled incredulously, looking at Michael with a mix of disappointment, confusion, and just plain lust. The boy in front of him, frazzled as he was, was still endearing and very attractive. Yet, with a laugh, he opened the closet door and wedged himself in. Michael gave him a grateful smile before slamming the door and running over to the other one.

After quite some time, when barely any light filtered through the cracks in the closet door and Jeremy could no longer feel his legs, Michael appeared. He looked tired as he opened the door and offered a hand to an off-balance Jeremy. There were bags under his eyes, and his glasses were slipping steadily down his nose, yet, his eyes were shining. They were sparkling and piercing Jeremy’s mind, but he wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Sorry about that,” Michael said, frowning slightly and putting a hand behind his head. “My friend Christine was coming over and I totally forgot about it. I think she’s okay with all... this,” he said, vaguely gesturing to Jeremy, “but it’s kind of hard to explain why there’s a guy in my closet, right?”

Jeremy smiled and pressed a small kiss to Michael’s lips. “It’s o-o-okay.”

Michael sighed and took both of Jeremy’s hands in his. The pads of his thumbs brushed softly over Jeremy’s knuckles, as if he was trying to memorize every detail. When he spoke, his voice was barely over a pained whisper.

“What... what are we, Jeremy?” A pair of chocolate eyes- dark and sweet- met ones as blue as the sky. Michael spoke slowly, planning every word. Unspoken words lay on his tongue, lips moving silently. “Cause... all that was really nice, but I can’t do this if you’re just looking for something physical.” Michael frowned at the ground. “I’m tired of being closeted queer guy’s call girl.”

There were so many things that Jeremy wanted to say, but the words just wouldn’t come out. The words just felt blocked, unable to escape without a stutter, or even escape at all. “Y-You were a p-p-pr-prostitute?” was all that could come out.

Michael smiled shyly. “No, Jeremy. Just trying to make a point.” He was quieter now. “So... what are we?”

Jeremy cupped Michael’s cheek, the words somehow forming. They weren’t everything that Jeremy wanted to say- they were far from elegant or meaningful- but they were enough.

“We’re i-in love.”

And that was all that mattered.

* * *

_March 17th, 1948 - 12:13 AM - Brooklyn, NY_

It was probably after the fifth morning that Jeremy realized he was screwed.  
Jeremy had enough sense in him to figure out that five “sleepovers” with a random boy that his parents had never met within a month was enough to raise some concern. He was twenty-one at the time, an adult capable of making his own decisions. Yet, that didn’t seem to apply while he was living under his parent’s roof.

After a little over a year of saving money and going on hidden dates with Michael, Jeremy finally had the funds to split the cost for a little apartment the two had their eyes on in Brooklyn. It was away from everything, tucked into a quiet corner of the city where they were sure to be left alone.

Michael showed up at Jeremy’s door with a huge smile on his face. It was one that the soldier had seen before- one that was slightly lopsided and full of light. The teeth and crinkle of Michael’s eyes was a sure sign that he was excited. He reached a slightly shaking hand to Jeremy’s, grasping it lightly and tapping three times.

Jeremy laughed, wide and unrestrained. Michael, the dork and genius that he was, made a symbol for intimate moments they couldn’t exactly perform out in public. This particular one meant _I’d kiss the fuck out of you if I could._

Michael Mell, the genius and the absolute dork.

Unlocking the doors to their apartment was, in Jeremy’s opinion, a religious experience. Michael would argue that “it’s just a goddamn door” to make Jeremy laugh. It earned a high-pitched squeak that Michael deemed “musical” and a “work of art”.

Jeremy blushed and told him to lug in the piano himself.

A day came and went. Eventually, all the boxes were stacked haphazardly in a room to be sorted later, though Michael was currently digging through a box with his music books. Jeremy sat cross legged on a mattress they had thrown in there for good measure. It lay in the corner, folding up in the corners as the hardwood undulated.

Watching Michael unpack, Jeremy decided, was one of his favorite pastimes. His eyebrows furrowed in a way that made him look slightly confused, and a tongue peeked out from the corner of his mouth on its own accord, leaving spit all around his mouth.

Anyone else would have turned a nose at the action, but Jeremy found it endearing.

Michael eventually joined him on the mattress, hands intertwined and humming softly to himself. Jeremy listened in amazement, even if he had heard the song one million times before

“Do you l-love me?”

Jeremy wasn’t really sure where the question came from. It sort of slipped out, his censor gone from the mix of little sleep and a long day of dragging boxes. Michael seemed to be surprised by the exclamation as well, rolling over to face Jeremy. The light streaming through the window was practically nonexistent, so he couldn’t quite read Michael’s expression. From a glance, although, he did look bewildered.

After a moment, Michael spoke. His hands started flying around him, his voice slightly higher like it became when he was passionate about something. The thought almost made Jeremy smile.

“Of course I do, Jeremy! What on earth could make me not love you?” Michael reached out a hand to run it through his lover’s hair, long on the top and desperately needing to be cut. Michael twirled it through his fingers as if he were obsessed with it. “Mahal, I’d never stop loving you even if you killed a man.”

Jeremy leaned into Michael’s touch. Even after the years, that boy would never fail to unwind him and wrap him tightly around his finger. “A-Ab-About that…”

Through the darkness, Jeremy could see him smile. The soldier traced his thumb over Michael’s lips, wanting nothing just to be under their touch.

But… this was different. A simple kiss or a night alone wouldn’t fix this.

“But s-seriously. I-I-I do-don’t really know w-why. I m-mean, what would m-m-make you w-want to love me? Li-Literal human disaster J-J-Je-Jeremiah H-H-Heere.”

Michael’s smile faded. “What makes you think you’re a disaster?”

Jeremy rolled to his back and sighed. “W-Well, I m-m-mean, I h-have the most no-noticeable speech im-im-impediment in the w-world. I’m ‘i-in-inverted’,” he stretched his arms above him to make air quotes, “I d-didn’t h-have the g-guts to tell my p-pa-parents that I didn’t want to j-join the Marines, and I’m a-always w-worried that I’m he-head over h-he-heels with someone who d-doesn’t love me. So, y-yeah. Dis-Disaster.”

Michael’s brows furrowed and tongue stuck out. His hair lay tangled on his forehead, a mess from a hard day’s work. Dirty glasses slightly obscured a pair of chocolate eyes that were as sweet as the person sporting them.

“Do you want to sing a duet?”

Jeremy laughed. “What?”

Michael sat up, smiling with his teeth and an excited gleam in his eyes. “Come on, it’ll be fun!”

Jeremy sighed as he tried to repress a laugh and pushed himself up on his elbows. “M-Micah…”

But Michael was already up, striding to the piano with a smile reaching his ears.

Jeremy stared at him. Michael often would stop in the middle of a conversation or… anything else, really, to go to the piano and start playing. The way his fingers danced over the keys and manipulated it to draw out melodies that Jeremy could hardly comprehend made him forget that it was rude to go and play piano in the middle of a conversation. Michael, the virtuoso that he was, strode to the piano and grinned back at Jeremy.

“I am a man among men…”

Jeremy laughed and buried his head into the matress. “Michael-“

“Heart of lion, nerves of steel. But, I see you and then…” Michael turned around, smile still painted on his face and growing more and more each minute. Jeremy, who was peeking behind his fingers and a similar smile laughed once more.

“I am just a jellyfish, spineless creature, no ambition-“ The pianist turned around awkwardly to poke the soldier with his toe- “Set to do as you say, it’s you who got me that way!” Michael held out the last note for much longer than it should’ve, causing Jeremy to throw a discarded shoe at him for showing off.

“What is this power that you posses?”

Michael was now swaying back and forth to the rhythm, Jeremy bopping his head to the da-dumps of the piano. The notes flowed out of Michael’s mouth and fingers like magic, as if he were creating a painting with the sounds itself. It swirled around the room, lifting Jeremy up with it until he found himself dancing behind the man at the piano bench, humming along with the chorus before it was his turn to sing. “You snap your fingers and I run-“ Michael turned around and jabbed Jeremy in the chest- “to you! Are you hypnotic, have you go that evil eye?-“ he winked to further drive home the silliness of the song- “It’s idiotic to try resisting… Am I so weak? Are you so strong? Are you so right? Am I so wrong?

“What is this power that makes me love you more each hour and say, ‘more power to you’?”

Michael turned around, his mouth now wide open with the smile and eyes trained on the man straightening his shirt and choking back a laugh as he prepared for his solo.

The melody of the out of tune piano led up to Jeremy’s part. “I was a woman of- wait, s-s-shit!” A snort and clunk of random keys alerted Jeremy that his lover had clunked his head on the piano.

“A-Am I su-supposed to say ‘w-woman’? And s-stop that!” He kicked Michael lightly in the calf.

“Oh my god, you’re hopeless.” Michael responded, dissonant sounds erupting from the piano as he moved. The lead up that mimicked an orchestra of strings but still sounded just as beautiful led up to Jeremy’s part. “Don’t fuck it up this time.”

“Shut u-up.” Jeremy took a deep breath. “I was a ma-an-“ he strung out “man” to cover syllables which earned him another snort and Michael a warning glare. “-of stone. Hard like an iceberg, proud and cold, with a will of my own… Hard to be dented, but you had made me soft as putty,” he collapsed playfully on the bench next to Michael, sitting outwards.

“I’ve been a tyrant, it’s true…” Jeremy laughed internally about how utterly false the statement was about him. “Now I’m a yes-man to you!”

The chorus came and went, and Jeremy soon leaned into Michael’s shoulder as they sang “more power to you” together. A smile that could light up Brooklyn filled the room from both of them.

“Does that answer your question?” Michael asked, his chin buried into Jeremy’s shirt. Jeremy couldn’t help but admire his beauty, yet it was much more than that.

It was the way Michael would drum melodies as he cooked dinner. It was the way that he would twirl Jeremy around like he was dancing when he was excited. It was how he squeezed Jeremy’s hand tightly and opened his mouth as if he were going to scream when he saw a dog. It was how he could get a screaming baby to quiet. It was how he would talk excitedly when he found a cool stamp and place it with extreme care into a book given to him by his father.

All of it was wrapped into a package named “Michael Mell.” It may have been rough around the edges, sometimes falling apart at the seams, yet all of it was perfect to Jeremy.

He sighed and leaned into Michael more, who placed a loving hand on his head to keep him close. “I s-suppose so.”

Jeremy felt the man smile against his skin. “Told you so.”

The soldier laughed.

He was in love with a dork.

But at least that dork loved him back.

* * *

_April 23rd, 1950 - 7:59 PM - Brooklyn, NY_

It was just a normal day.

Jeremy would wake up tangled in Michael's arms. Pressing a soft kiss to his lips, he would extract himself from the warm bed and make breakfast. He would leave a plate on the counter of their tiny kitchen with a cheesy note. He was sure that Michael wasn't able to read half of them due to Jeremy's combination of bad penmanship and shaky hands, but his lover didn't seem to care. After eating, Jeremy would get ready for work and press a soft kiss to the sleeping boy's forehead before slipping out the door. He would walk down the street to the small diner on the corner, drop off his things in the back and start cooking. It paid little over minimum wage, but he didn't mind. Michael would sometimes come in for lunch and the two would joke, careful not to lay anything on too thick, careful not to let anything slip. Jeremy would then meet Michael at home at 5:30 and the two would just exist for a bit. They would eat, laugh, cry, and not worry about the world for just a little while.

Jeremy had grown fond of the normal days.

While his job was not the best and it meant having to leave for work at five in the morning, all of it was worth it. It was because Jeremy would be waking up with his head nuzzled into Michael's chest, that the latter's arms would be wrapped around him safely. It was because some days he would accidentally wake Michael up and the boy would look at him, his hair messy and eyes glazed-over with sleep, and Jeremy swore that there was no painting in the Met that was as beautiful as what he was looking at. It was because for a moment, when Jeremy and Michael fell asleep together in that little apartment in Brooklyn, that's all it ever was and ever would be. Just Jeremy and Michael, Michael and Jeremy.

It was the dream come true, the picture of domestic bliss painted and hung in the Met. It was sitting side by side in the backseat of a rental car, singing along to the radio in funny voices. It was Michael’s laughter that rang through that same car, the boy’s head on Jeremy’s shoulder as they sat under the stars.

It was the musician travelling to library at the last possible minute before it closed when Jeremy couldn’t seem to get his words out.

Jeremy sat on the couch in their tiny apartment, curled up under a heavy blanket that Michael had bought because he knew Jeremy liked the pressure on his chest. The fabric stretched tight around Jeremy’s body did little to stop him from shaking.

However, the soldier wasn’t shaking due to the cold and wet, late April night. It was something much deeper.

This was not the first time that Jeremy had to work his way through a panic attack, but it certainly was the worst. He guessed- no, he was sure that it had been going on for more than an hour. Possibly even two. Everything was too loud, too overwhelming, every sound and and sight taking him back and back to...

He didn’t exactly know where. Maybe a battlefield in a foreign country, maybe hiding behind his bed from his father. But wherever it was, he knew it was the worst time of his life.

Jeremy had come home from work late. He knew the scene that would be awaiting him: a worried Michael pacing around their living room wringing his hands until Jeremy was sure they would fall off, a worried/desperate/angry “Jeremy, where the hell were you? I’ve been waiting two hours!”.

Though, Jeremy had never seen the scene while he was trembling uncontrollably, while tears were running down his cheeks like waterfalls. It had started out as a normal day, yet nothing about the entire situation was anything remotely close to “normal”.

The lock on their door proved to be quite a formidable adversary. Even with two hands, the key refused to line up and slip into the lock. It was yet another thing to actually turn said key.

Once Jeremy had somehow managed to stumble into their apartment and make his way to the living room, he was met with the exact image he was expecting. A worried Michael pacing around the room with an unmistakable expression.

“Jeremiah Heere! Where the hell…” the boy trailed off as soon as he met Jeremy’s eyes. The boy’s dark ones glowed as he looked back, yet it did little to melt whatever had hold of Jeremy’s heart. “Jeremy, what’s wrong?”

“I-I-I-I-I-I-I d-do-do-d-d-d-do…”

Jeremy’s speech came to an end as the repeated syllables stopped coming. The words, any sound that Jeremy had any chance at uttering had stopped in their tracks.

He was stuck. He didn’t even notice that he had fallen until Michael’s usually all-fixing arms were wrapped around him, trying desperately to drag him out from under the surface of this ocean of anxiety.

“It’s okay,” Michael whispered in Jeremy’s ear, too close. He flinched, eyes slammed shut to escape the hurt look that he was sure would appear on his partner’s face. “It’s okay Jeremy. C’mon, let’s just sit down.” The small whispers of praise and comfort continued as Michael lead his boyfriend to sit on the couch. “Can you write?”

Jeremy moved his head to say no and held out a practically vibrating hand.

_Michael please I don’t know what’s happening make it stop make it stop-_

“Okay,” Michael said as he nodded. In Jeremy’s opinion, it sounded as if he was trying to convince himself rather than convince Jeremy. “It’s okay. We’ll think of something… wait.”

_What is it? What did you think of? Is it bad? Will it help? Are you going to leave? Michael, please don’t leave I can’t-_

Jeremy simply raised an eyebrow.

“Is it okay if I leave you alone for a little bit?” Michael’s eyes widened as Jeremy’s breathing picked up. “No no no, it won’t be that long. Twenty minutes at the most.”

_Michael please don’t leave, I can’t be alone I can’t do this alone it feels like I’m dying Mikey I want to die make it stop-_

Jeremy nodded slowly. Michael smiled, worried eyes still glued on him. He then got the blanket that Jeremy was wrapped in now and put it around him, careful to not touch him too much. (Michael had learned after a certain incident involving a very heavy box and a very panicked Jeremy that the other was very hesitant with physical contact while he was worried or panicking.) He then pressed a soft kiss to Jeremy’s forehead before practically running out of the door.

So, there Jeremy sat, wallowing in self-doubt, anxiety, and the crippling thought that Michael wasn’t coming back. His normal, stable mind would tell him that it was an absurd idea, but the state he was in right now did not have the capacity to think such things. Every possible scenario raced through Jeremy’s mind, making his head burn from every thought. They ranged from Michael breaking up with him to Michael getting killed on impact in a car crash and _oh God he’s dead-_

“Hey… hey, Jer?” Michael was suddenly kneeling in front of him, the same warm eyes trying desperately to quell the whirlwind inside Jeremy’s mind. “Hey, Jeremy, I know you feel horrible-“ _I feel trapped and I can’t talk to you please help_ “-and you think there’s nothing that’ll help-“ _because there’s not_ “-but I think I found something that could.”

Jeremy opened his mouth and then shut it, feeling stupid. What was the point of talking if the words wouldn’t come out? He might as well _die-_

“I, uh, got a book. Sign language.”

Michael held up a worn handbook, practically falling apart from overuse. Its brown cover was freyer at the edges, and Jeremy could spot pages bent at odd angles yet… it looked loved. “I figured, you can’t write or talk so… this.” Michael gestured awkwardly to the book in his hands. “I think this book is from the eighteen hundreds…” The boy laughed slightly and smiled hopefully at Jeremy. Though the sight still hurt- everything hurt, really- it was just the slightest bit more bearable. “So, uh… what do you think?”  
_I think that I love you more than you could possibly know. I think that I don’t deserve you and you shouldn’t be doing this for me because I’m just a waste of time and money. I think you have the biggest heart of anyone I’ve ever met and you’re wasting it on a hopeless cause. I think you should just leave me but I can’t go on without you._

Jeremy formed his hand into a shaky thumbs up. Michael’s wonderful eyes lit up in response. “See, you’re doing great already!”

And Jeremy smiled. Somehow, through all the pain and panic and overwhelming feeling in his chest that made him want to faint and vomit, he smiled.

It wasn’t perfect. He wasn’t fixed, he would never be fixed. The soldier would always be convinced that he was the definition of a hopeless cause. There was no helping the disaster that was Jeremy Heere.

Yet, somehow, Michael Mell found a way to make it better, even in the littlest ways.

He was hopelessly in love with Michael. And though Jeremy was sure he would never be able to fully comprehend it, Michael was hopelessly in love with him.

Yet, through all the panic attacks, all the anti-queer propaganda, all the self hatred, all the worrying, the multitude of problems and odds stacked against them, they had each other.

And that made life better.

It made the risk all the more worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> congrats, you made it through a long-ass piece of writing!! please comment, i love them so much!! i love seeing what you guys think. 
> 
> and i don’t ask for art, but i’d appreciate anything you make for this fic or any of my other stuff. if you feel like it. or want to. i’d love it so much, and i’m planning on featuring anything i get. pls don’t feel the need to, tho, just people reading this is a gift enough <3


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